


Can't Sleep Love

by HolySticks



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cute, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Fluffy Ending, I Love You, I REGRET NOTHING, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It has to do with your soul but you don't know that, Love, No Angst, No Smut, No lime, Panic! At The Disco - Death of a Bachelor, Pentatonix - Can't Sleep Love, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Soulmates, Song Inspired, Soulmates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, can't sleep, leather jacket, no lemon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-11-07 23:16:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolySticks/pseuds/HolySticks
Summary: Thought of warmth and smoke, lingering hours after having indulged your heart."Maybe seeing him again will help," you suggest to yourself in a whisper. You know it won't - it will only make it worse. . .





	1. Chapter 1

You stare at the popcorned, dusty ceiling of your bedroom. Blankets and sheets splayed about on the bed but they never actually touch you. Thoughts of warmth and smoke, lingering hours after having indulged your heart.   
You ached and yearned to see him, the pit in your stomach failing to be filled with chocolates or romantic movies and stories. It only makes it deeper and hungrier. The fake warmth of the heater drove you mad and you finally caved.  
You went to see Grillby.  
Even just thinking his name drops a ball of fire in your gut. It burns and boils, yet it feels right. You're hungry and tired, but you cannot sleep for more than a minute. He keeps you up.  
The smell of him: smoke, herbs, spices and cinnamon, most of what he smells like makes no logical sense - but when passes you by close enough it is what you smell. The flickering and swaying glow of his flames. How his glasses glint and shine brightly with each movement he makes. His smile as he hands you your milkshake.  
It drives you crazy. It frustrates you. You want to kiss him, but you can't. You want to hug him, cuddle him, see without his glasses. To see him blind as bat when he searches his bedside table for his glasses with his hand. To wake up to his cooking - always something comforting and flavorful. To convince him to hire some workers and take a brake for a change. Steal one of this shirts as a sleep shirt. Sit on his couch and fold yourself into his side. Watch stupid Mettaton shows and old movies. Take each moment with him being just as happy as you are. Go on honeymoon in his favorite country. Dance with him under the moonlight, giggling and smiling. Be with him as an old bitty and still enjoy being in his presence more than anything else in the entire universe. Ride with him on his motorcycle, pulling yourself closer to his back as the stars twinkle and smile down at you while you enjoy his heat. Draw patterns upon patterns on his back to calm him down. Go out and grab some sweets from Muffet's using your employee discount. Build a blanket dumpling and pass out cradled in his arms. Lose to him in card games - whether you're better at them than him or not - just to hear the proud and happy crackle of his flames, just to see that smile of his. Surprise him by buying him tons of things for any holiday then proceeding to pamper him with love. To indulge yourself and pull him into a kiss, one filled with every confession you made to him at night. See his blue blush, and to see his scars and pepper them with light kisses. To become an emotional pillar for him and to allow yourself to be completely open and heartfelt with him. To be in that perfect give and take relationship. . .   
The pit in your stomach yawns, increasing it's ever annoying depth. You sit up with a heavy huff. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand and stand up. Toes curling into super fluffy carpet as you do so. It's the direct opposite of Grillby's hardwood floors, polished to perfection.   
You're slapped in the face with your thought continue to linger on him, but it does not surprise you. It's him.   
Him with his soft eyes and velvety voice. Him with his impeccable fashion sense. Him with his need to be on time. Him and his penchant for making sure everything is clean and in it's proper place. Him and his never silent self. Him and his kindness and warmth. Him and how he deals with rude people.  
Him and you. . .   
"Maybe seeing him again will help," you suggest to yourself in a whisper. You know it won't - it will only make it worse when you go away again.   
Away from his warmth and comfort, into the cold, starless city night.  
It only ever gets worse whenever you go, but when you finally do see him - it's as if the pit never existed in the first place. Everything is perfect for those few hours and you wouldn't have it any other way.  
You step to your closet, grabbing a pair of jeans that were hiding in the top of your closet, along with a red long sleeve shirt. You pause a moment then grab your old leather jacket with a fluffy hood rim too. A pair of short-heeled black ankle boots are grabbed too. You exhale shakily as you start to change.  
"I can't believe I'm doing this," you mutter. It's not hard to believe, you just don't want to admit so easily that you're so whipped.   
A pain makes itself know and you trip while putting on your pants. You pause with that task and grasp at where your heart is with a wince. The pain was sharp and sudden with no explanation.   
It's going to be a long night. . .  
\---  
The bell chimes merrily with your arrival. Heat hugs you firmly with cheer as monsters and humans alike look to greet you. A chorus of drunk hellos from strangers. You're fairly sure half of them are drunk off their asses. Gaslight-esque lights glow peaceful above the chattering mass as they hang from the wooden rafters. The smell of expensive beers, drinks, and greasy comfort food overwhelms you. The wine red booth cushions contrast beautifully with the dark wood everywhere. Shimmering liquids in bottles of every background, shape, color and type rest on shelves behind the bar. Everything fits with the California bar theme and mood - even the people dining and drinking. Even you.  
Noting that the bar is full, you take one of the tables with red tablecloths adorning them. Granted every table has a red tablecloth.   
Not a second passes before a milkshake is set down in front of you, the crackle and snaps of fire catch you off guard. He's asking you a question you're sure of it. You look up, and see him. Your breath catches when you find Grillby leaning right over you. He tilts his head in that cute way of his and it kills you immediately.   
"Hi," you splutter in a moment of utter stupidity. He smiles kindly in greeting, his "silent" question still hanging in the air.   
"Couldn't sleep, that's all," you remedy after a moment. Grillby seems satisfied with your answer when he nods. He goes back to work - if that actually includes entertaining Sans, you are unsure - leaving you alone.  
You continue to watch him silently though. Your main hand holds the milkshake in an odd triangle from the top, you nudge your hand with your face as you drink. It's relaxing.   
The rumble of laughter, the two televisions in the front and back corners of the bar, then the sound system blaring music - it effectively drowns your thoughts in absolute contentment. The warm bubbly feeling of soda rests in your stomach. You feel nothing but that fat, happy warmth filling the pit in your gut that was empty and starving minutes ago. And watching Grillby as he paces about behind the bar, pouring drinks and flickering cheerily at each joke cracked. The bubbles pop inside of you, before being replaced by millions of fiery sparks that fill you. Blankets of joy and ease rest on your shoulders, making you lean forward to make your elbows rest of the table.   
You stare at Grillby, a soft smile gracing your face as you take in every detail of him. As if you never met him before in your entire life. It feeds that bubbly-mess in you. You make the unconscious decision to stay the rest of the night based on that warmth. So you stay there at the table as customers start to filter out. You drink the milkshake to the whip cream every single time he refills it. It's too warm to be cold anyways.   
\---  
It's just the two of you now. Sans having just left and everyone else left hours ago. This isn't an uncommon thing to happen, in fact, whenever you come late at night you stay until it's just the two of you. Alone in the middle of the city, it's not uncommon at all. So Grillby doesn't even question it, he just goes up to the front and flips the open sign to the closed side. Then he sits down across from you, both of his arms resting on the table - seeming to reach for you.   
"How's your day been?" you ask him, moving the milkshake straw from your lips. You can't see Grillby's eyes behind his glasses at this angle - too much of a glare - you can't tell what he's thinking besides from the state of his flames. The flames that dance before your eyes, reflecting on every surface and lighting the entire bar. The flames that never stay silent for even a second.   
"Busy," his voice is like fog rolling over stones: deep, slightly raspy, strong, velvety and one you can never forget. Your back shudders slightly and you bite back a sigh, by physically biting down on your bottom lip. You nod in acknowledgement, not trusting yourself to say anything. A silence follows, but it's no uncomfortable - it just is.   
You slump forward, pushing the chair back as you rest your head in a nest of hair, hood fluff, and your arms. He doesn't even seem taken aback, he simply let's you gaze up at him. Everything is warm and fuzzy as he reaches forward to move a piece of hair that had fallen out of your face. You stay still, breathing soft in the dull drone of music hiding behind his fire.   
Neither of you say anything. . . nothing at all. A veil of rose drapes over the moment - coloring everything this romantic hope.  
And you're filled with peace.  
You're at peace with your situation, your feelings, your heart, your soul, this moment. Everything fits perfectly and makes sense. This is how it's supposed to be. . .  
I love you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He rubs the glass carefully, swing music flowing through the bar.
> 
> And he thinks of you.

He rubs the glass carefully, swing music flowing through the bar. Dimmed lights hanging carefully from the ceiling. Cushions with heads resting securely and bottoms that seem sewn into the seats. Wood that’s scratched and scuffed, but still retains that attractive color. Patrons laughing and getting drunk, everyone enjoying themselves. Casual banter filling the air with chatter that carries outside into the night. Sans sitting at the bar drinking his mind away and cracking puns left and right. The usual drunken bunny calling for another shot. The dogs sitting at their table playing cards. And by the sounds of it Dogressa is winning. The crackles and pops of a wooden fire that he hardly hears anymore. The smell of high quality and low quality drinks. The smell of the food he prepares for each person separately. The soft pitter patter of feet outside the bar. The cars driving by with their headlights too bright for the fog covering the ground.   
He sighs carefully, setting down the glass in the shelves beneath the bar counter. It clinks softly, just a small shift in environment and he remembers offhandedly that the glass just happens to be “yours”. He adjusts so he’s standing slightly straighter. Then looks over his crowd of customers, checking briefly for you - even though it’s foolish, he knows you aren’t there. It doesn’t seem as though anyone needs him. So he heads into the kitchen, just for a moment - just to relax.   
After all, when his soul hums so beautifully in tune with yours, even though you’re not by his side. You occupy his soul so much so that even the most mind numbing situation can set him off on a path of thinking. Thinking thoughts he would never expect himself to think.   
He thinks of you.  
You and your bright smile. Your charming laugh. Your hair as you brush it away from your face. Your patience with his silence, and your willingness to understand his body language. Your vibrant soul that makes seem to be colored in rose. Your stuttering steps when dancing with him alone. Your hands that fit so perfectly within his. The gentle ways you show your thanks. The way you can bring the entire bar to life just by walking in. And by stars, your eyes. Your absolutely stunning eyes that make even the stars seem dull and lifeless.   
He pauses, resting his hand over his soul. He exhales with a soft smile, you don’t even cause him to feel nervous. He knows you feel the same, he knows… So he doesn’t rush, and he doesn’t worry. He thinks only of you and everything he adores about you. He closes his eyes and sighs. He drops his hand from his chest and shifts his foot, before looking over his shoulder at the window. The stars giggle and dance, their dresses shifting the world. And he knows everything is right and that everything is okay.   
\---  
He feels you before he sees you. He reaches down and pulls out your glass, starting to prepare your usual. A milkshake with more malt than suggested. The door chimes and he glances up, his soul deciding to melt at that moment. You’re wearing the jacket he bought for you with the red shirt that compliments the bar. You’re put together perfectly and simply. Your hair falls into your eyes, as always, and your shoulders are relaxed. You look so at peace, so comfortable, as your eyes drift over the bar. As your attention is brought to the full bar and then as your eyes follow your thought process. He quickly walks over to the table as you sit down. He sets down the milkshake and leans over you a bit.   
What are you doing here so late?  
You look up quickly, eyes almost seeming to be a fire in their own right. Your subtle face when you see him, from a Mona Lisa smile to a shy one is calming. Comforting and makes him feel as though he’s going to melt if you end up grinning at him tonight.   
“Hi,” your voice is honey: sweet, thick with sleep, warm, smooth, and addicting. He could just sit down in front of you and listen to you talk all night, he muses for a moment. He smiles at the thought, watching as you work your mouth in a little ‘o’.   
“Couldn’t sleep, that’s all!” you hurry to remedy. He nods in acknowledgment, you’ve come in later and later this week. Claiming to be unable to sleep each time. His soul thumps, he knows… he knows and he accepts it. It was gonna happen, whether he wants it or not, he does, and you both might as well let it bloom naturally. He scuffs his shoes on the floor, shoe getting caught for a moment before he’s off to the bar again. Finally mixing that drink for Petunia.   
He glances at you for a final moment, when he sees your eyes fixed surely on him he smiles.   
\---  
He pauses as Sans grins that “special” grin of his. That knowing grin, that grin that makes him shudder. Sans leans forward on his palm, closing his eyes.   
“How it’s going with the two of you? Smooth sailing?” Sans pauses as he opens his eyes and then scoffs, “Don’t give me that look. I mean that in the nicest way possible.”  
I don’t know what you’re getting at.  
“You still haven’t said anything to Red?”  
Humans don’t feel souls like we do, I want her to start it. I don’t want to rush it. He looks to the side, resuming his task of putting the liquors away - trying to his white lie.  
“You’re too nice, Grillbz. Well good luck and good night,” Sans mutters and snaps his fingers. Blue light coming from him for a brief second and then he’s gone.   
He sighs and shakes his head. Wiping his hands on a cloth needlessly before walking over to his sign to flip it over. He looks over to you and sits down. His soul humming happily. A warm feeling, like he just had a shot. It’s sharp and comforting. He wants more of it as he rests his arms on the table. Fingers stretched out as he stares into your eyes. You’re so open in a single moment. And he’s given just a piece of the love you feel for him. And the love he feels for you. The moments where you’ve walked in and just started talking with him.   
The moment his soul started burning for your presence. The moment you invited him to game night with your friends. The moment you shared your favorite book series with him. All the cherished moments. He decides to not linger on them. He wants to be here, in this moment with you. You’re here and that’s all he’s ever wanted. You’re here, your heart and soul here for him to feel and hear. It’s perfect and it’s okay. He’s okay with this. This peaceful recognition of everything and nothing at the same time.   
“How’s your day been?” you ask him as your milkshake straw trails your lips. He blinks a few times, slightly distracted. You’re unfair. Very unfair, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.  
“Busy,” he mumbles. You shudder and relax at his voice, biting at your bottom lip. He smiles, he can do that to you. He can make you relax and feel like you’re the only one in the room with just his voice. He does that to you. And you do that him. It’s a balance of power of each other. That balanced power and relationship. It’s real and peaceful.   
It’s a welcomed feeling: love.   
You nod slightly, your eyes closing briefly. He watches as you lean forward, pushing the chair back so you’re comfortable. Your arms and hood fluff cushion your head as you rest near his hands. Touching. You stare at him. And he feels it.  
The bright orbs that look so deep and powerful. Flames flickering within the depths, the patterns in your eyes like an ocean pulling him under. The lighting pushing everything to its limits. Your eyes warm and soothing. Colorful, almost as if your soul resides in your eyes - and with it your emotions. Acceptance and love. The pull of your soul finally gets him and he gives in. Letting you show him everything.   
Years of love and affection. The tenderness of it all catches him off guard. The way you’ve been feeling this even longer than him, the fact you’ve know for seeming ever that it’s okay. That you love him and that you’ve loved him. He feels your yearning and peace. He feels your adoration. You pull him under and then smile. He knows, and it’s okay.   
He brushes back some hair in your face, clearing the view to your eyes. Swimming back to the shore, back to the present. Back to where he can see you. And you’re glowing in the dimmed bar. He can’t explain it, nor does he want to. You’re you. That’s all that’s needed.  
I love you…   
So he leans forward, hand cupping your cheek. He sees you close your eyes with him as he feels you lean towards him. He pauses but a moment from your face. Breath brushing over his face, your cheek warm in his hand, soft hair falling to curtain his hand, your hand cupping his face… he takes it all in.   
And closes the gap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was later than promised! But also, two bonuses I guess? 
> 
> Extra chapter and from Grillby's POV. 
> 
> Inspired by "Only Us" from the musical "Dear Evan Hansen".

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for being unable to add the correct breaks! AO3 wasn't being too nice...
> 
> Anyways, hope this made you melt! Mind telling why song this made you think of? Or what song(s) you listened to while reading this?


End file.
